


The End of the World, Revisited

by chipperdyke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione Cult's Valentine's Event 2020, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipperdyke/pseuds/chipperdyke
Summary: Hermione had lived with the Horcrux of Bellatrix Lestrange for almost as long as she'd lived without it. Now, she's lost Bellatrix, and is forced to consider the consequences of not trying harder to destroy the Horcrux before the unthinkable happens.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 4
Kudos: 139





	The End of the World, Revisited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raven_Tonks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Tonks/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Home at the End of the World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8631826) by [ludling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludling/pseuds/ludling). 



> Inspired by my #1 favorite of all time: A Home at the End of the World. If you have not read it, go do that right now because it will change your life.
> 
> ludling has very generously allowed me to take their characters for a spin, and I couldn't be more grateful! They also just posted a sequel of their own which is excellent:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743124/chapters/54344503
> 
> I enjoyed this little journey immensely and hope that you do, too.

Some part of Hermione Granger knew that her life was not normal. Normal wasn't going to work through your study fireplace, or having an excess of six meetings every single day of your life. Normal wasn't coming home too late to a roommate and her son and Chinese takeout you want much less than an overfull glass of wine. And normal wasn't the witch in the corner of her office, naked in her bed, whispering invisibly in her ear the most irreverent of observations when all Hermione really needed to do was not make a fool of herself in sophisticated company. 

It wasn't until midmorning Wednesday the 1st of November that Hermione noticed that her phantom was gone. She was writing a letter between two meetings, miraculously both in her very own office. Letter-writing time was Bellatrix's favorite time to pester her. It was, in fact, a good way to summon her when Hermione wanted her. She was ever-present, of course, but the stillness of writing seemed to rouse her attention. 

She checked the time, and then whispered, "Bellatrix?" 

Sometimes the phantom played coy, but there was - there was an _emptiness_ to this silence. Hermione's hands went cold and she grasped at her chest, the part of her that lit up with Bellatrix's touch, the part that responded in pleasure no matter what she was actually doing to her. 

Presently, that was nothing at all. Was she actually… could she be… gone? 

Hermione tried to remember what it felt like before the Horcrux, and could not. It was fifteen years ago - half her lifetime had passed since. She'd almost lived longer with the Horcrux than without it. Wouldn't she have noticed if Bellatrix's soul was actually gone? When she'd first been abducted, the Horcrux had affected her moods. She had been more quick to anger, and more violent in inclination. She felt no different now, or she'd have noticed it earlier.

She traced back the last time she'd seen Bellatrix. She'd skipped dinner last night and went to sleep within a few minutes of getting home. It had been a long and exhausting day. Bellatrix liked to visit her dreams - that was the only time Hermione could feel her skin, which meant every and each moment of her dreams of Bellatrix was precious - but she hadn't last night. She wasn't there during the last meeting yesterday, either, but just before that, yes, she'd stood behind Hermione as she ordered a late lunch at the shop near the Ministry, whispering dirty promises in her ear that made Hermione shudder. 

Then she was gone. Hermione was jarred by the impossibility of it. She'd lost Bellatrix, mysteriously, and more than ever before she was aware of the sacred responsibility she bore in keeping Bellatrix's soul inside her. 

Harry had died to destroy the Horcrux he carried. Hermione had always wondered if she should have done that, too, but she'd been too selfish to kill herself. She'd thought it might be stupid to rid the world of Hermione Granger, when there was such a distant chance of Bellatrix ever being resurrected, anyway. The only one who would probably have done it was Hermione herself - to keep Bellatrix for her own uses, to have her in some remote prison. Except that Hermione knew her tormentor too well to think she could restrain her if she completed the resurrection successfully. That was the only reason she had never tried. 

So. Who on God's green, good earth would ever resurrect Bellatrix Lestrange? Even Narcissa Malfoy, who was probably the person that appreciated her sister the most, would never do _that._ Only Hermione herself knew it was possible. Only Hermione might want it so badly that any price would be worth paying.

Her 10am was knocking on her door. Hermione set her quill aside and tried to remember. Right. The Muggle-born Rights Coalition. They were just harassing her because it gave them a sense of political clout. She _was_ the leading Minister candidate, and for whatever reason, the Coalition found it appropriate to take responsibility for that. 

Flo had let them past her desk without consulting her. No matter. She opened the door for them, waiting for Bellatrix's snide remark, but nothing came. 

It wasn't until she got home that she realized that she was probably late. When was her last cycle? She didn't bother to track them. The tampons in the bathroom trash bin were old, but they were there - but Ginny was here, and who knows? 

Hermione's heart began racing. She turned to her planner. The damn thing - she remembered bad cramps on the 23rd during her meeting with the current Minister to discuss trade laws and the enthusiastic lobby that supported potion imports containing banned ingredients - but was that her second or third day? Either way, late. Definitely late. 

She took a hot shower and went to bed. She turned to her side and rested her hand on her belly. A headache was coming on, but she did not go for the pills. They never helped much, anyway. 

Hermione did not sleep around. Not exactly. She wasn't anyone's plaything, not… not anymore, not ever. Nobody but Bellatrix had ever owned her. That wasn't to say that she didn't long for the touch of another human being, though. Bellatrix had become surprisingly accommodating of that, these past few years since Ginny's son had left for Hogwarts. Bellatrix seemed to understand that Hermione wanted to be touched. She slid into the skins of Hermione's nameless, Muggle lovers without protest. And Hermione _liked_ that. She liked finding ladies, and the occasional gent, to follow home and… sate her urge to have something real. Except there was no real, not without… 

It wasn't as if she had ever gotten drunk enough not to use protection. It wasn't as if she slept with anyone who seemed… unsafe. Hermione was diligent, even in her dalliances. That was all it was to her. She gave out fake phone numbers, and the one woman who hid her phone to make sure she had Hermione's real line - oh, this new millennium, where someone was expected to call another's cell just to find it in the blankets - she left without taking the bait. It was an older woman, with an absent boyfriend and an unseen roommate. Hermione had left without thinking twice. A Muggle couldn't find her, and she did not want any entanglements.

But there had been a man. God, there had been a man, with curly, long hair and a dimpled smile, some deep sense of how to look under his curls into her eyes. Bellatrix had not minded that. She had liked it. She liked to watch Hermione ride her.

God. There had been a man, but not all protection was fool-proof, and Hermione did not take the pill. She imagined for a brief moment what a baby would look like - darker than Bellatrix, a Squib perhaps, death to her bid for Minister, and Bellatrix would fawn over the newborn like an eager mother, if she knew how much Hermione wanted this. 

And then she remembered that Bellatrix was gone. Bellatrix was gone, and if Hermione was pregnant it would be a baby with her soul. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that the bearer of a Horcrux - untested, an experiment anyway, a _mistake_ \- this would be the easiest way for an accidental resurrection to occur.

And was it what she wanted? To raise a child with her lover's soul? Certainly it wasn't something she would have chosen. Certainly this was not what she wanted. But was this not her _sacred responsibility,_ to hold Bellatrix's soul safely? 

She did not sleep that night. The next few days passed as a blur, silly and meaningless conversations overshadowed by the hope/dread wish/prayer of this theory. She felt heavy with the possibility of it. She was overwhelmed by the impossibility. She could not imagine her life after this moment, but she could not find in herself any enthusiasm for an alternative. The race for Minister of Magic? Nothing compared to having Bellatrix back. She had not wanted a daughter, until it was the only thing she wanted at all. She hadn't recognized her own emptiness until it was filled. She was never so lonely. 

Flo noticed. "Your letters are piling up."

"I am working as hard as I can," Hermione snapped, an echo of Bellatrix there. 

Ginny asked her why she'd stopped downing a bottle of wine a night. "Headaches," Hermione told her, and her hand rested on her belly instead of her head. 

And then her blood came, and Hermione cried in the bathroom, hating herself for wishing, hoping that this would mean that Bellatrix would return to haunt her again. A spontaneous abortion, she thought. Or a late period. Damn it all, but she _had_ wanted it. The moment of loss was overshadowed by the faint and growing hope that she was not the vessel of Bellatrix's resurrection.

She hated herself for not finding a way to rid herself of the Horcrux, before it was too late. She hated herself for wishing. Bellatrix as a child would be mouldable, changeable. Hermione could raise a child to be intelligent, driven, and _good._

Bellatrix, Resurrected, would be a menace the likes of which the world had not seen since Voldemort. Bellatrix Resurrected could never see the light of the sun. Hermione would keep her safe and close, and if Bellatrix was back she'd keep her as she did the phantom - a secret. 

And yet something tightened in Hermione's chest at the thought of having her back, in the flesh. Hermione had never been able to imagine restraining Bellatrix. But perhaps these many years in the prison of Hermione's mind might have changed her. Made her grow. Made her into something that the world could chew carefully and then swallow, rather than spitting her out. 

She wished for the phantom back, but - night after night, day after endless day - she did not come. 

  
  


The Black House in London was decrepit and abandoned. It was smaller than she remembered, although it was still a mansion. She lit her wand, hesitating to light the chandeliers and lamps for fear of waking the ghosts that must dwell here. 

The dust was undisturbed, except for the footsteps Hermione made in it. Her feet led her to the library. There was the spot Bellatrix had bound her, and Griphook had released her from those bonds. There was the place Bellatrix had appeared to save her from her husband, after abandoning her to him that day. 

There was the window at which Bellatrix had stood, when Hermione first saw her beauty before her terribleness. This was not the place their physical relationship began, no. But it was where they fell in love. 

Narcissa had inherited the old Black house, as apparently Andromeda's disowning made her ineligible, but Hermione doubted Andromeda would have wanted the house anyway. Regardless, it was without a doubt empty. 

She skipped the dining room, which held too many memories of Rudolphus, and went upstairs, pushing open doors. She found Bellatrix's room. She'd never been here before, and tried to breathe deeply, but it only smelled of must. The closet was filled with moldy dresses and decaying leather. She fought the urge to scoop up Bellatrix's clothing and bring it home with her. That would do nothing but make this separation harder. 

She sank down into the bed, burying her face in the pillows, clinging to one. Her heart burst in mingled sorrow and anticipation. 

"Bellatrix," she finally whispered. "Where are you?"

  
  


At the house that night, Hermione sat with Ginny and listened to her stories of Quidditch. Ginny was playing in a casual league, and had developed a close friendship with one of her female teammates. The other woman wanted something more. Ginny was undecided, uncertain as to her actual desire, hesitant to risk a valuable friendship. As always, Ginny did not press her on her own romantic life. Ginny knew that Hermione was taken, although she had never spoken the words. 

The conversation shifted to Hermione's run for Minister. Hermione tried to dredge up her prior enthusiasm for it, but Ginny noticed that she was lackluster. 

"What is going on with you?" she asked finally.

"Feeling old," Hermione told her. It was a sore subject. Ginny had turned thirty this year; her son, fourteen. As Hermione expected, the diversionary tactic worked, and Ginny went to bed soon thereafter. 

Hermione collapsed into her own bed and wished for a sign. "Where are you, Bellatrix?" she asked again, to the open air. She knew for certain now that she was somewhere. 

Who had resurrected her? And why? Would she find out when Bellatrix was taken in by Aurors? Or when she attacked the Ministry to avenge her own death and that of her master? Would Bellatrix come to Hermione? Would she remember anything of the past fifteen years since her death? It was a waiting game, and Hermione did not have patience in this. 

  
  


It was two weeks later that Hermione felt her presence. It manifested in a blossoming sensation at her sternum, a release of tension, a semblance of the _wholeness_ she'd never felt before, or since, Bellatrix. 

Hermione stumbled out of her study and into the back yard. It was nearing winter, and the sky was dark, but it wasn't too cold. Her yard was a mess of weeds and failed gardens; an untamed lawn of wild carrots and radishes and a small stand of bushes overrun by ivy. Hermione pulled her jumper closed and stumbled forward. Searching. 

She came to a halt at the wall of vines at the end of the property, abutting the back fence. She considered sending a messenger Patronus, which would reveal Bellatrix's location. Normally she could only feel her when she was in the same house.

Hermione turned sharply back around. She could see Ginny bowed over the oven, unmolested, and drew her wand without thinking. If Bellatrix threatened Ginny…

She felt breath against her neck and jumped half an inch. She'd forgotten how silent Bellatrix was when she moved. She gripped her wand more tightly and turned her head to the side. 

"Mudgirl," was the whispered word. 

"Bellatrix," Hermione breathed. She was afraid to turn around; afraid to find after all this anticipation that it was her phantom, returned at last. Or it was Bellatrix Resurrected, the Death Eater. She dreaded both outcomes. 

"So you haven't forgotten my name," Bellatrix said louder. It did not sound like her phantom. It was her.

Hermione turned around, and then took a step back. It was Bellatrix… and it was not. Her eyes were a pale gray, and she was solemn. Shorter than Hermione remembered. There was something - off, different, her hair was short and stood straight up in black curls above her head. She was pale, ethereal. Undeniably real. 

Her eyes flickered down to Hermione's hand. "You have my wand." The nonsequitur was jarring. 

"You're supposed to be _dead,"_ Hermione responded, more bitingly than she had expected. 

"Oh, pet. Did you think I wanted to live?" Bellatrix chuckled darkly, revealing pearly-white teeth, and turned her face slightly sideways. Her nose was longer, flatter. She wore a Muggle hoodie and jeans. She looked younger, fresh. 

Without thinking, Hermione stumbled forward. Her hands fell on Bellatrix's shoulders, curling into a light grip on the edges of the hood. She tried not to shake her, and succeeded only at a short half-sob. The sensation in her chest blossomed fully with the touch, filling her body with a tingling satisfaction. The lingering, incessant echoes of her headache disappeared completely.

She licked her dry lips and leaned forward, contacting her lips to the closest part of Bellatrix she could reach, which happened to be the top of her high cheekbone, under her eye. The tingling spread to her tongue and the top of her mouth, and Bellatrix was silent, still. Her skin was cold. She smelled clean, piney. Different. Hermione breathed deeply. 

"Did you miss me?" Bellatrix's voice rumbled in her chest. Hermione felt it through her hands. She realized that her wand was still in her hand, not quite touching Bellatrix's face, which was still turned away. 

"What has happened to you?" Hermione asked, and as Bellatrix turned her face to answer, Hermione cut off her next words with her lips. 

To kiss Bellatrix again. She did not bother with technique, diving hungrily into Bellatrix, and Bellatrix did not respond but she did not resist, either. Those lips - Hermione had never loved to kiss her. She remembered the last time in the meadow. _Our future is death,_ she'd thought. And, _She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen._ There was something so bittersweet in their love affair. Every kiss had been a part of the game of power. They had both lost in the end, and only Bellatrix seemed at peace with it. 

But it hadn't been an end. Hermione had lived afterward, as a shadow lives. To think she could have imagined herself satisfied with that. 

Bellatrix deftly plucked the wand out of Hermione's loose grip, and Hermione snarled and broke the kiss, her hand darting down to grab it back.

She didn't have the strength to wrench it away. Her fingers curled around Bellatrix's. She was caught up in those pale eyes. So different, but still depthless and wild. 

"You have no idea how complicated it is to navigate back to London from Arizona without a wand," Bellatrix told her dryly. 

_"Who?"_ Hermione managed. 

Bellatrix scoffed. "An untrained witch following a pagan ritual. Enough blood and magic to make it work. Flawed though it was. She was trying to raise _Lilith."_ Bellatrix's eyes flashed, and Hermione could not tell if it was the indignity of it, or if Bellatrix was somehow flattered. 

"It's a good thing Lilith doesn't have a Horcrux," Hermione said, voice wavering.

"Indeed."

Hermione's other hand trailed up to trace Bellatrix's new nose. "At least you have a nose," she chuckled, and then she kissed the other side of it. Bellatrix's eyes fluttered closed. 

"Will you stay with me?" 

Hermione backed off enough to watch Bellatrix look through the bright kitchen window at Ginny. 

"We'll call you my cousin," Hermione suggested.

"Better to be a friend," Bellatrix said, lip curling. Her accent was different…

Hermione laughed. "Are you trying to speak American?"

Bellatrix pouted. 

"You are." Hermione turned the idea over in her mind as best she could. Foggily. 

"Keep trying," she told Bellatrix, and then she towed her to the back door and burst through. 

Ginny looked up from her quesadilla, eyes wide. "Unexpected visitor," Hermione announced. "From America. A friend."

Ginny eyed them both and stood up. 

"Her name is -"

"Solaris," Bellatrix broke in. So she'd chosen a name. Hermione licked her lips, rolling it around silently on her tongue. 

"Pleasure," Ginny muttered, and circled the table to shake Bellatrix's hand. "You sure do look familiar."

"She's got pure blood on one side," Hermione explained quickly. "Look, are you good for tonight? I have some catching up to do."

"Sure," Ginny said, drawing the syllables out. 

Safely in her room with the door closed, Hermione rounded on Bellatrix, taken aback again by Bellatrix's new eyes. She put her hands behind Bellatrix's neck, feeling the short hair at the back of her head. She pressed their foreheads together.

"What now?" she whispered. 

"The times we've had together, these past fifteen years," Bellatrix mused. Was she thinking of the endless meetings? The tongue-in-cheek jibes? The one night stands? Or the dreams, which heavily featured the meadow. 

Hermione ran her hands along the bottom of Bellatrix's sweatshirt. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" She leaned back to meet her eyes, shocked to the core again at their bright depthlessness. 

"Haven't slept for two days," Bellatrix told her, unreadable. She brushed the hair away from Hermione's face. They were trying to find their footing again, after so many years of knowing exactly where they stood in relation to each other. 

"Tell me about Arizona," Hermione said gently, and she turned to her dresser, finding two night shirts. 

  
  


Hermione had never woken up with a lover in her bed - not even Bellatrix. Especially not Bellatrix. 

Bellatrix's stirring woke her, and she turned instantly around and wrapped her arms around her as if to keep her there. The Horcrux in her chest purred happily, and warmth pooled in her belly. She'd forgotten how deeply it was felt. She remembered only her own misery, and not the pleasure of it. 

With her eyes closed, this new Bellatrix looked almost the same as the old one. Hermione placed closed-mouth kisses on her temple, trailing down her neck, unable to resist it although she worried that it might drive Bellatrix away. Instead, Bellatrix turned on her back, offering her chest. 

Hermione dove eagerly down, taking a nipple into her mouth. _Maybe it is not so bad to have a body, after all, my love._ She hesitated to speak the words. 

She felt a flicker of - something - a realization that when she'd had Bellatrix before, she'd been going on instinct, and now she was thirty-two and she knew her way around a woman's body. 

Bellatrix's yielding felt unfamiliar and strange to her. But then, they had never been like this before. She realized that Bellatrix likely had nothing left for her in this world but Hermione and this - this new identity, this slightly altered face, and the option of - what? A new beginning? And yet Bellatrix had come to her first of all.

Fifteen years ago, Bellatrix had imagined keeping Hermione once the final battle had been won. But now - now, it was more the inverse, and Bellatrix was probably just as thrown by that as Hermione was. 

Bellatrix arched her back under Hermione's touch. Hermione remembered seeing her in battle, that arched neck, pleasure in her pose. Hermione thought that it would be impossible to fully sate the incredible need for touch she'd just discovered. Her thirst for Bellatrix was wide and gaping, a chasm in her chest and loins, and each open-mouthed kiss to her body only made her need grow, until her hands were shaking with it. 

She moved down her thin torso, nipping at an exposed hip bone, and then she nuzzled between Bellatrix's legs and Bellatrix opened up to her. 

  
  


Hermione went back to work on Thursday, having called out for two days. She found new enthusiasm on her pile of letters, although it was far too towering to tackle during working hours. She scooped them all into her bag and focused on her day's schedule.

Bellatrix stopped by her office at noon and Hermione brought her to her favorite restaurant. Not too fancy, but the food was good and the waiters all remembered her. Bellatrix attracted some stares - Hermione never dined out with anyone but the Weasleys. 

Her American accent was improving, but she didn't speak much. Their communication happened mostly non-verbally. An oddity, to have lunch out with Bellatrix. Hermione realized that she had never eaten with Bellatrix alone. It felt like a production. Like a date, and Hermione hadn't ever dated before.

She returned to the office with a spring in her step. Bellatrix was attempting to register as a human being in London, and she was using Hermione's spare wand. She'd given hers back gracelessly, but with less protest than Hermione had imagined she'd make. She was accustoming herself to Solaris Grey. 

The surname had immediately set Hermione's hackles up - it was too spot-on, easy to catch - but Bellatrix would not take no for an answer, and Hermione actually didn't mind that. When she thought about it, she expected that Bellatrix would hate the identity of a half-blood American, but if anything she seemed doggedly committed to it. 

When Bellatrix arrived that night at Hermione's home, she was smiling. Anyone else might have missed the slight curve of her lips, but Hermione didn't. They ate take-out pizza and Bellatrix announced to the roommates that she'd signed up for testing to become an Auror. 

Ginny gave her a once-over. "I'm not sure the American curriculum would have covered the right material."

"I am not concerned," Bellatrix told her smugly, voice catching on the last half of the word, drawling. 

"Solaris is an excellent duelist," Hermione mumbled, and immediately committed to coaching Bellatrix through the motions of dueling without her signature flair. It would be a challenge, certainly. But Bellatrix - she was committed to Solaris Grey, and Hermione would not take the ambition of a career from her. 

That night, Bellatrix turned Hermione on her back and showed her once again what three fingers without rings and long nails felt like. It was something old and practiced for them, but new, too. Like their sex at the Malfoys', it was an experience of complete domination. Hermione gave herself over to Bellatrix, keeping her eyes open to watch every small movement. Bellatrix caught her eye and grinned ferally, and Hermione smiled back and drew her body closer. 


End file.
